A Syndicated Christmas
by NanoBlade
Summary: Over two months after taking down Crawford Starrick's empire, Jacob and Evie prepare to celebrate the holidays the best way they know how. But as the twins soon learn from their friend Clara, not everyone can afford to be merry and jolly thanks to a greedy money lender. Only Jacob's spirit and Evie's wisdom might be what this man needs, but will it be enough?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Merry Christmas to all! After playing Syndicate, I was looking through some of my old writings and found a project I never finished from a year ago, that I eventually removed from the site. To my regular readers, you know that I am currently writing a crossover between Assassin's Creed and Once Upon a Time that is currently on a short hiatus. This is so that I can have this fic finished by Christmas Day, and by this rate, it will be close, but I should be done.**

 **Anyways, I loved Syndicate, and have always wanted to really capture what it was like to celebrate Christmas in the Victorian Era. I figure the best way is to tell a short tale of the Frye Twins and how they celebrated the holidays fresh off of taking down Crawford Starrick and freeing London from under his boot. I also make a little bit of a crossover to a classic Christmas tale with this fic, and hopefully, my take on it will still be good enough for everyone, my regular readers and new ones alike. Enjoy this first chapter, and the remaining ones will be coming out in the next few days with the last one coming on Christmas day, and not a day later! I promise!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Jacob POV**

 **December 20** **th** **1868**

 _My dear brother, Jacob._

 _Henry and I have been in India for almost two months, and I am still as breathless as I was when I first caught a glimpse of the magnificence of the Taj Mahal. Truthfully, the written words in these letters I have sent fall utterly short in how they can describe this amazing country. Our brothers and sisters-at-arms here are proud and skilled warriors, and even the people outside our circle are respectful and gentle. I have so much to tell you when we return, and I promise that I will be home in time to celebrate the holidays. Until then, stay out of trouble (though I won't hold my breath), and I will see you soon._

 _Signed, Evie._

 _P.S: Henry has just told me that he has never celebrated Christmas before! Honestly, it doesn't surprise me, but he shows much interest in partaking. I know how you have always enjoyed celebrating the holiday._

* * *

"What is so funny, guv'ner?"

I looked up from the letter, still chuckling. I could hear Evie's stern voice as clear as a fresh pint as I read the letter, and I still could not stop chuckling at her nagging. Craig, one of the Rooks' fastest drivers was sitting in the booth close by with his friends.

I got up from my seat and walked over, holding on as the train lurched. "A letter from my dear sister, fellow Rooks." I announced. "She's saying how much she is enjoying the ancient land of India, and then here she tells me to stay out of trouble. Me? Hah. Don't I always?"

Craig and the others laughed along with me as I sat down at the head of the table. Snow from the open carriage door fluttered down from above, but none of us cared to really notice. The ale was keeping us warm enough as well as the fire in the hearth on the other end of the carriage.

Outside our inner circle, people know me as Sir Jacob Frye, leader of the dominant gang of London, the Whitechapel Rooks. Of course, to my sister and her newlywed husband, Henry Green, I am a bit more than that. A humble Master Assassin burdened with protecting London from the vicious control-obsessed Templars. Of course, while we recently took down the corrupt Crawford Starrick from his ivory tower, and freed London from his slimy claws, Evie always seemed to have this feeling like the Templars would return. So after Henry proposed marriage to her, I suggested that they take a holiday to India, as Henry had wanted to. See how she would consider living there while I stayed here in England. Of course, my sister didn't seem keen on that, thinking that her younger brother (younger by four minutes, by the way! FOUR GODFORSAKEN MINUTES that she holds against me!) would cause Big Ben to fall into the Thames with the town under my protection without her supervision. But she eventually accepted, (with Henry's help in pushing her, I might add). Now it had been months since she had left, and Big Ben in all his glory was still standing. So clearly I wasn't doing a good job at leading the Rooks if I hadn't managed to do that.

Richard, a tall, balding man walked over from the beer taps with two pints in hand, giving one to me as he sat down.

"So boss? Plans for the holiday?"

Christmas was always a great holiday I spent with Evie, and it always seemed to be the one day of the year that we didn't fight every five minutes. But I knew it wouldn't be the same this year. It was going to be the first Christmas after our father, Ethan, had passed away. I wasn't entirely sure how we would do it, but in all honesty, I would be just as happy to start a bar fight with a few of the remaining Blighters on Christmas Eve.

"Just getting into regular trouble, friends. What else?" I replied as the train started to slow down. We were pulling into St. Pancras Station.

When the train stopped, I heard two thumps on the roof. I smiled as a few of the other Rooks looked upwards in confusion. I reminded myself that only half of them at the table were original Clinkers, the former name of the gang. The rest of them had joined us only in the most recent weeks.

"Well, Buckingham Palace isn't a smoldering crater, brother. So that's at least one good sign."

I smirked as I stood up and turned, Evie grabbing me in an embrace. I pulled back from her, noticing that her whole face was deeply tanned, and she was wearing a different cloak.

Normally, Evie wore her black leather Assassin cloak with a red cape, but I guessed she had adjusted to the warmer climate on their holiday. She was wearing a white hood similar to Henry's with shorter sleeves and a purple bandana around her neck, her hair tied up in her usual braided bun. She was also wearing strange looking, large golden ring bracelets around both her wrists.

I smiled. "Welcome home, Mrs. Green." I teased.

"It's Dame _Frye-Green_ , please, Jacob." She corrected, taking her gloves off as she took a seat beside Craig. Richard went to get another chair for Henry as the Indian Assassin walked into the carriage. He had told us a few months back that his real name was Jayadeep Mir, but I couldn't pronounce it properly, no matter how many times I tried. So we naturally stuck to his English alias.

"How have you been, Jacob?" Henry asked.

"Ah, just causing the regular mischief with the Rooks. Haven't seen another bloody Templar since we stopped their explosive plot for Her Majesty. Haven't roughed up a few Blighters in days, so we're getting a bit bored."

"And how was India, Ms. Evie?" Craig said, after taking a gulp of ale.

"Truly a country of sights unlike any other in the world, Craig. Our train home just arrived fifteen minutes ago, so we were waiting for you to pull in." Evie replied. "You could make something of yourself down there in India, Jacob, instead of wasting your time here with the Rooks drinking and brawling."

I shook my head, grinning. "You'd have to ship me down there in a crate tied down with the thickest chains, Evie. I'm perfectly fine staying right here in London."

Evie and Henry took their pints as every one of us at the table held up our drinks. "Is that a challenge?" She laughed back.

* * *

Evie and I headed out to Southwark after she and Henry had gotten settled back in. Old Charles Dickens, another good friend of ours, had kept in touch with Evie while she was away, and insisted that we have a pint the very day that she returned. He was looking quite wizened by the long years of his life, and yet I could still see the avid quirkiness of his maddening literary ingenuity in his eyes. He was talking about perhaps writing another book to release before February of next year, and Evie became very excited about the thought of that.

"Another eye into the world of child labour, Mr. Dickens?" She asked, clearly thinking about the boy, Oliver Twist. I swear, after meeting him, she had become one of his most avid readers.

"No, I think not this time. I think I should look into the mind of the life of a rich aristocrat, this time." He replied. "Recapture just a little more of that enchantment from my previous writings before I set foot into the next world."

"Well, I think you would make another great novel. I must be the first to read it, Charles." She said.

Charles grinned. "I will personally give you both copies when it is finished. Although, I must remember to even start it."

I noticed a fly land on the brim of my paperboy hat on the table, and flicked it away just as the singers by the bar were finishing up another chorus of their song.

" _From God, our heavenly father a blessed angel came/ and unto certain shepherds brought tidings of the same/ a lad in Bethlehem was born, the son of God by name/ oh, tidings of comfort and joy/ comfort and joy/ oh, tidings of comfort and joy."_

I noticed a middle aged, well-dressed man get up from his seat and drop a few shillings into the bucket beside the singers as they kept singing. One interrupted his own singing to give a humble "Thank you" to the man, who smiled and wished him a Happy Christmas in return. When he turned to go back to his seat, he caught the eye of Charles, and walked over.

"Charles!" He said, happily. "I thought that was you!"

"Ah, Fred!" He replied. "How fares you family?"

"Very well, sir. Very well. My wife and I are making great preparations for our annual Christmas celebration. You are welcome to join us, if you please."

"I might just take you up on that." He replied. Suddenly, he stopped himself, and gestured to both of us. "Fred, these are two very good friends of mine. Dame Evie Frye, and her twin brother, Sir Jacob Frye."

Fred shook our hands with an infectious smile on his cheeks. "Fred Harris. Truly a pleasure, as any friend of Charles can call themselves friends of mine."

"Thank you, Fred." Evie said. "Care to sit for a drink with us?"

"No, I'm afraid not." He said, taking his pocket watch out, and checking it. "I must be heading back home after I check in on my uncle." He looked almost said at the mention of the man. "He truly is a lonely man, he is. I hope he would take my offer to join in the festivities this year, though I grow less hopeful with each passing year." His smile returned as he put his top hat on his head. "In any case, you are welcome to stop by our place for the celebrations as well, Sir and Dame Frye. I must be off, though. Charles."

He turned with a nod, and walked out into the street, the night just coming alive outside as the lamplighters took their rounds, with the snow still tumbling down hard.

I almost started to see gears turning in Charles' head as he sat up in his seat, but as soon as I noticed it, it disappeared. He grabbed hold of his pint and took a large swig.

"I really should be heading home as well, my friends." He said. "If you'll excuse me." He got up, scratching at his moustache.

"Allow me to take you home, Charles. I could use a bit of fresh air." Evie said.

"Excellent, Miss Frye. Thank you."

"Jacob." Evie gave a nod to me. "See you back home."

I smirked up at them. "Yep. See you back home. Glad to have you home, by the way, dear sister."

After they left, I ordered another pint, then after finishing that, I headed out into the snow. I felt a great sort of feeling come over me. This season was coming alive as ever as I heard more carolers about outside.

" _Repeat the sounding joy/ Repeat the sounding joy/ Repeat, repeat the sounding joy."_

I pulled my hat down over my forehead as I trudged through the snow. I couldn't help but smile as I passed them.

"You have a Merry Christmas, sir!" One called to me.

"Aye!" I replied. "To you as well!"

I crossed the road from the pub and started heading towards the train yard. I could tell the train would be passing by soon, and it was getting dark very quickly.

As I walked down a darkened alley to the yard, I spotted a small boy looking through the garbage barrels. He noticed me, but then looked down, as though trying not to be seen.

Something about how he looked to me seemed to spark something. I thought about how Evie and I spent our time breaking all those children free of the factories they had to work in under Starrick's boot, and Clara, how she was such a good helper for us. Even that little boy, who snatched my coin purse the very first hour that we had stepped into London. I always had believed that he had nicked it just to piss me off, but now, as I saw this boy, I realized something. A lot of the children we had freed really had no real place to go. We'd taken them out from under the fist of horrible men reaping all the gold while they ground their bones away, only for them to end up here on the streets.

"Oi!" I called out. "You!"

The little boy looked up at me, looking quite afraid. "Y-yes sir?" He asked in a small voice. His accent wasn't from here. He sounded American. How did he get all the way here across the Atlantic only to end up on the streets?

As I took a step forward, I noticed that he wasn't small at all. He actually looked older than fourteen years of age, if I was correct.

"What's your name, boy?" I asked, in a gentle voice.

"S-sorry, sir?"

"Your name." I repeated. "I'd at least hope you have one."

"B-Baelfire, sir." He replied.

What a strange name, I thought. But I paid no notice to it. I felt inspired by Fred and the singers earlier. I reached into my pockets as I walked over.

"Are you cold, Baelfire?" I asked. I didn't even wait for an answer. "Oh, what am I saying? Of course you bloody are. Here." I placed one hand on his shoulder as I took a knee. I looked up at him, smiling. With the other hand I dropped ten one-pound coins into his hand.

"Buy yourself a meal and a room for the night. You shouldn't be out here in the biting cold."

He looked down at the coins, then at me as though I was the maddest person in all of Great Britain. I only grinned to assure him that I was not joking. I had plenty of gold from the pubs the Rooks and I owned, and I would have plenty more even if I were to empty out all my pockets right here and now. Some of it might as well go to someone who needed it for now.

"Thank you, sir!" Baelfire exclaimed, taking the coins and shaking my hand hard. "Thank you so much!"

"Not a worry." I replied. "And you have a Merry Christmas."

"Yes, sir. God bless you!" He ran off into the snow to find someplace warm.

I looked off past the train yard, seeing the lights of Big Ben's face through the night. I felt another kind of joy come over me when I saw the smile on that boy's face instead of the joy I felt when I cut down every bastard foreman running those dangerous factories with the children running them. I felt that I would be talking more with that man, Harris soon enough. I had a thing or two to discuss with him.

I was at the edge of the train yard, and heard our train going through as I vaulted over the picket fence and ran across the rows of tracks before climbing aboard. I think I was feeling particularly merry about this season. Evie was home, and even though Father was gone, we would still make the most out of the season.

 **A/N: To those who read my crossover, the boy is indeed the same Baelfire. Asgeir had wanted to ask him if he knew the Frye Twins, but never did.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Merry Christmas Eve to all reading this! I am still writing as hard as ever to get this done by the end of tomorrow! Hope that anyone who reads Assassin's Creed: Faith is reading this, and if you are, my greeting goes double for you! :) Hope you have fun watching all the classics and opening presents! I actually just watched It's a Wonderful Life for the first time, and I don't think another movie I have seen before has touched me quite like that one. Merry Christmas to all!**

* * *

 **December 23** **nd** **1868**

I jumped out from between the train carriages and did a smooth tuck and roll onto the cold hard gravel into the winter air. I had been invited to two places for that day, and Evie was nagging me just as she usually did that I should not miss either one of them. Clara had wanted us to come to the borough that she lived around along with all the other street children. She had wanted to show us something that she had been meaning to for a few months now, she was saying.

The viaduct I was now jumping off of onto the streets below was in the Strand, where Fred and his wife took up residence. Evie was pulling up in one of the lime-green Rooks carriages with the reins in hand.

"You know how to make a good entrance." I sniggered. "You know it's only Clara."

Evie still hadn't changed out of her new white Indian Assassin robes, which surprised me a bit, considering that all her arms had left to protect her from the cold were those strange looking bracelets.

"You know how Father thought, Jacob. Keeping up appearances is a large key to 'hiding in plain sight'."

I sighed as I climbed up beside her. "You know, I never was too good at that tenet."

"Don't we all know it."

* * *

Clara was gathered around a fire barrel with several other street urchins, singing Christmas carols with them. When she noticed us approach, she grabbed Evie by the hand and started pulling her where she wanted to go.

"Glad to see you home again, Miss Evie." She said, smile as big as ever. "I heard the rumors from some of the younger Rooks, but I…I had to see it for myself."

"Of course, Clara. Jacob and I always spent the holidays together. What is it that you wanted to show us?"

"Well, my friends on the street told me you met someone recently, and I was hoping you could help, now that you will see a small connection through what I have to show you." She glanced at me. "I was hoping you could do the honors, Mr. Jacob."

I raised my eyebrows. Aside from freeing the children of London from the factories, and in return getting information on the streets for me, and sending some of the children we freed to work for the Rooks, Clara and I rarely seemed to see common ground in our mission. I had wanted to free London by burning Starrick's empire down, but Clara had to almost beg me to help Evie stop the factories to help topple the Templar foundation. So why was she asking me to help now, instead of Evie?

"Uh…" I stuttered. "And-and what would you have me do, exactly?"

Clara only smirked. "Just follow me, and listen to what they have to say."

Clara brought us from the fire barrel over down the steps into a small courtyard in the middle of the slum. It was a very poor part of Whitechapel, she was taking us through, and I felt more of that feeling come across me as I saw the children, and even a few grown men and women reflect how much wealth they truly possessed.

Eventually, Clara brought us at the door of a small flat that was part of a building about a block down from one of the Rooks' first ran pubs, the Frying Pan. She knocked quietly on the door, and after a minute or two, a man opened the door.

He looked at Evie and I first, but then noticed Clara.

"Hello, Clara!" He said, smiling. "How are you doing today?"

"Just fine, Mr. Bob. Just wondering if me and my friends can come in?"

He grinned, offering a hand to Evie and me to shake. I noticed how the knitted fingered gloved he hand on his hands were badly torn up. He was missing the index and ring finger on his right hand's glove, and all but his ring finger on the left.

"Evie Frye, sir." She said, shaking his hand. "How do you do?"

"Just well, thank you Miss Evie. Bob Cratchit."

Bob brought us into his home and got one of his children to put the kettle on as we sat down around his table. It was a very poor neighborhood we were in, but this house showed that they were barely even able to afford living there. It amazed me even further how, when most of his family was gathered around the table for tea, they had enough to provide lodgings for the whole lot of them. A family of _seven!_ SEVEN! I only remained silent as ever as Evie helped Bob's wife, Emily around their tiny kitchen to help with the tea while Clara talked with Bob's children, three of them seemed to be around her age, while the oldest looked only a year or two younger than myself and Evie. Emily carefully brought the kettle over, then looked down at her children as she set it down on top of a small cushion on the chipped table.

"Where's Timothy?" She asked.

Matthew stood up from his chair and called for him. "Tiny! Are you coming? We have company!"

I heard both footsteps from the other room, but also a low clunk between each step. "I'm coming, Mother!" He said. "I'm coming."

He came out from behind the corner, and instantly, something flashed to my eyes.

A poor boy screaming his lungs out as workers gathered around him to try and get the massive metal panel off his foot, which had been badly crushed.

And then that bastard walked out with not a real problem in his world aside from the splitting headache he claimed he felt from the screams of the boy.

"How long does he intend to go on like this!" He thundered. "He's disrupting the other workers! Shut his trap and get the machine fixed!" He pinched the bridge of his nose as he went back towards his office. "And send me some laudanum for my head!" He added.

I never thought of what happened to that boy after the apothecary patched him up and sent him away. The last I remember hearing of him was how Ferris commanded his assistant to dock the poor lad's wages after getting his leg CRUSHED. Like he could walk it off. Seeing the lad hobble into the room on a crutch like that made me all the more glad that I had gotten comeuppance for him by putting a blade through Ferris' neck.

I got up from my seat and knelt down, offering my shoulder to the boy. "Here you are, lad." I said. "You need help?"

"Thank you, sir." The boy replied. "Are you one of father's guests?"

"Jacob." I replied.

"Tim." He said. "But my friends call me Tiny."

With my help, Tiny sat at the table taking a seat between Evie and myself.

"And you, miss?" He asked her. "Are you another one of our guests along with Clara?"

"Evie. Jacob's my twin." She replied.

"Well met, Miss Evie. Did Clara bring you with her?"

"I did, Tiny." She replied. "I did because I want to propose a way how you can help us, Jacob and Evie."

"What, one family?" I said. "I would imagine that there are too many families like Bob's in all of London. What does one family mean?"

"Jacob!" Evie snapped. She looked like she was going to strike me in the face for it, so I did my best to keep my mouth shut as Clara went on.

"You're not wrong, Mr. Jacob. The families in Whitechapel are not looking towards a very prosperous Christmas or New Year's unless we are able to convince some of the richer to at least turn out their pockets a little."

"It's that damned boss of yours, Robert!" Emily snapped. "His greed blinds him of how much we are in real need!"

I glimpsed over at Emily. She was red in the eyes and face as Clara explained about Tim.

"Tiny is the youngest of the family, but he had wanted to help his family any way he could, so he found work in a factory out in Croydon. Just as the rest of the children who have worked in the factories, Mr. Jacob, they worked long hours for little pay, and Tiny was handed an even crueler fate earlier this year."

I knew it. He was that boy.

"Tim's leg was crushed by a steel panel from one of the machines." Bob said to us. "It was a terrible thing to befall my son, but the even worse part was how Mr. Ferris said Tim's wages would be cut until he returned to the factory. Strangely, the man was found dead in his office not long after Tim was taken to the doctor."

Evie glanced at me, fully understanding who the foreman of the factory was, and that I had handed back the man what he deserved after what he did to Tim.

"You have our condolences, Young Tim." She said. "Mr. Cratchit, is there anything that we can do to help you and your family?"

"No, Miss Frye." He replied. "It wouldn't feel right to take charity from new found friends."

Emily put her hand on her husband's. "You could speak to his boss, though. See if that old crone could listen to a pair of younger people who know just how hard it is for this class."

"We would be glad to, right Jacob?" Evie said, putting her foot firmly on top of mine under the table.

"We would? WE WOULD!" I almost shouted as I felt a whole locomotive of pressure drop onto my foot.

"You've always been the most vocal of your opinions to others, Jacob." Clara said. "If anyone might talk some sense into Old Scrooge, it might be you."

It was approaching midday by the time we had finished the kettle of tea and we were ready to head off. Evie walked over to the courtyard just outside the Frying Pan, and sat down on a bench close by.

"I'm hoping that you're now seeing the true meaning of this season, little brother. The Cratchits could truly use our help on this matter."

"There isn't a doubt in my mind, Evie." I replied. "But like I had said in there, we can't just focus on one family. Seeing that all the families of Whitechapel have a profitable New Year might need something bigger than trying to convince one Christmas spirit deprived man that the season has a real meaning."

"Something bigger like…?" She asked.

I turned over in my seat to face Evie more directly. "I'm open to doing what you want to do by helping these friends of Clara, but I want to at least see you be open to doing the same for me."

Evie hesitated, looking down at the golden ring bracelets on her wrists as she pondered what I might be suggesting. Finally, she spoke up.

"One favour." She said, holding up a finger to emphasize. "And then we are even. Now, what do you have in mind?"

I grinned. "You told me not to cause trouble while you were away. Feel like making some, now?"

She understood. "Are you sure, Jacob? I don't know if it will work."

"Hey, it's Christmas! This is the time of year for miracles!"

* * *

I sent a message to all the Rooks to go through with the plan and set it all up. They were now tasked with finding the current leader of the Blighters and invite him for a truce talk tonight at the Thistle Crown pub, one on neutral ground between the two gangs. I had discussed the plan with Evie, Henry, and several of the higher-ranking Rooks, and the plan was set. This was not a real truce, as everyone damn well knew it. It was one last gang war to settle the feud once and for all.

It was getting dark by the time Craig said that a group in Lambeth had found him and given him the invitation to come at 9 o'clock, sharp. Evie and Henry flanked me from behind as I pushed hard on the door, the bells of Big Ben in the distance tolling for the fifth time to signal the hour. Almost everyone inside the pub was wearing the crimson uniform of the Blighters except for a choir in the corner, and the bartender. When they saw me strut inside along with as many members of the gang as I could bring with me, the patrons dropped everything that they did and ran out while the Blighters growled and hissed at me.

"No, please. Come back again." I called to the patrons as they ran past us on their way out. "Their stout ales are fantastic!"

I was unimpressed by who sat before me as I walked over to the table in the center of the pub, turned my chair with the back rest in front of me, and sat down. He was a man a few inches shorter than me, and what made me a little bit uncomfortable, to say the least, was that he was missing his nose. He had his mouth open partly so he could breath, because whatever happened to take his nose off, he hadn't gotten the wound properly cared for when it happened. He had no nose hole to breathe through. I could almost imagine him trying to sneak up behind me, and I smash his face in return. However he had convinced Roth to let him become the new leader of the Blighters before he bit it, I really didn't want to know. I also didn't want to know just what happened to take his nose off.

"This the man?" He asked in a funny voice. He sounded like how one might usually sound if they had their nose pinched, expect twice as funny. It was taking every ounce of energy I had not to burst out laughing, and I could swear as I looked behind me, I could see Evie smirking as she stood behind me in my chair.

"Somethin' funny?" He asked. It was then that I noticed that he was an Irishman, which would make this all the more fun.

"Not at all." I replied, putting my straight face back on. "Greeting, friend. I am Jacob Frye, leader of the Rooks."

"Yes, I know who you are. But you don't know who I am. That's why you had to rely on your men on the street to come track me down. I'm Patrick O'Neil. You, however, will get to know what my men call me only right before I mop the floor with yer blood slathered face."

I chuckled. "Well, then." I said. "Right to it, eh?"

"That's right. We're going straight to it. We both know what yer here for, Frye. Yer here to discuss surrender. As for my response: very well, I accept yer surrender."

I laughed again. "You got heart, O'Neil. I give you full marks for that. But I'm actually here for a couple of things, and I want some of your men to at least listen to what I have to say. That all right with you? Great"

I didn't wait for his answer, and stood up, taking my paperboy hat off and putting it down on the table between me and him. "Blighters. Fellow Rooks." I began. "Tonight is the eve of one of the greatest nights of the year, and we are celebrating it how we all should! Settling our differences one last time! I'm smarter than you might think. Even smarter than my dear sister thinks." Evie put her face in her hands as I continued. "I know that aside from who's inside this pub, you barely have enough men to fill a dining car! And for what? Your former boss, Maxwell Roth worked for a man who stomped on the poor and laughed while doing so. So here I present you with a choice, and I hope you make the right one. Toast this boss with his missing beak." I pointed at him. "Toast him and his theft of free will to all those under your gang's boot. Or you can do better!" I smirked. "Join us! Join the Rooks! And just in time for Christmas, lads!"

I got exactly the response that I was thinking I would get, and as I ducked for the beer bottle getting swung at my head, Evie, Henry and all the Rooks inside yelled out and the fight begun.

The odds were really stacked against the Blighters, but they were real fighters, not like the ones I was used to facing on the street. It helped that several of them stood off to the side, already trading for green sashes and coats. Evie had grabbed the bracelets on her hands, and was now using them like brass knuckles. It turned out that they were hidden weapons meant to be used just as she was using them right now.

O'Neil lunged for me, but I rolled off to the side, slipping on my brass knuckles in one swift move. Then I jumped for him and gave him three solid hooks onto his face. By this time, most of the pub was either subdued, or surrendered quietly as he fell flat onto his back. I jumped over him and grabbed him by the shirt collar as I extended my blade and held it up towards the ceiling light.

"Frye! Wait!" He cried. "Maybe we can work out a deal! Please! I have a family!"

"Good." I replied as I got up, pulling him upwards, too. "You want a deal, then I have one: Your gang is finished. The Blighters are banished from London starting tonight. They can either join the Rooks, or leave and never return. And you can head back to your family, and get out of this business. Maybe a little Christmas cheer is what you need, friend. Exactly what we're spreading to all the underprivileged families of Whitechapel."

Two Rooks came up from behind O'Neil and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him out from the pub to escort him away. Evie, Henry and I sat down at the table as things in the pub picked back up again.

"Boss." I heard a Rook say as they handed me a pint. I stood back up, and the Rooks started chanting, along with all the former Blighters.

"Speech! Speech! Speech!"

I laughed, hosting myself up onto the bar table and sitting down beside the taps, pint in hand.

"Rooks! We don't just celebrate the holidays tonight! Tonight we celebrate something just as important to us all! We gave ourselves a motto at the start of all this when my sister and I started this gang at the morn of this year, and I am glad to say that with this last gang war, we have made that motto a reality! Now it changes to what we all have wanted to say for so long: Oppression HAD to End!"

"OPPRESSION HAD TO END!" They all called as I drank merrily.

Evie stood up, no longer holding back the smile she had been for a while. She couldn't hide it anymore, how she was proud of her twin. "And a Merry Christmas to all!"

"Merry Christmas, indeed Miss Frye!" Craig replied. "And a Happy New Year!"

The celebrating lasted long through the night, and as Craig told me, it didn't end until the taps ran dry at dawn. I wouldn't know. I passed out from drink around one in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Merry Christmas!**

 **December 24** **th** **1868**

The next afternoon, I walked down the streets of The Strand towards the address Clara had given us. The snow was not letting up one bit, but it gave me a lift in my spirits, for this was Christmas Eve. This year would truly be a White Christmas, and it would be all the better for it.

I often think each Christmas of how it is to us essentially. To Christians, it's to celebrate the birth of their Lord, Jesus. But us Assassins know him for being nothing more than a man who held Precursor artifacts and knew how to use them to perform miracles before people who believed in him. Yet, we see the joy in it too. We see of it more as the halfway point through winter. We celebrate on this occasion to essentially say to ourselves "We are halfway out of the tunnel. Out of the cold and into another good year."

Evie was waiting for me at the door to the address. It was a moneylender's branch, with an odd sign nailed above the door. It said "Scrooge and Marley", but whoever owned the sign had been too cheap to replace it. Marley's name was simply scratched out with an "X" over his name.

"This the place?" I asked her.

Evie only scowled. "I was just inside, Jacob. You take a crack at him, but you won't find me wasting any more effort myself. I doubt I can even spend another second with that man in the same room as me! I'll see you back at the train."

She started to walk away, but then glimpsed back at me. "I stopped by Mr. Harris' though, Jacob. He's invited us for Christmas Eve with his wife and friends if you're interested."

I looked up at the sign, ever haunted by how crudely the name Marley was chisled out of the sign. This man, Scrooge must have been a real penny pincher if he wouldn't spend any to get the sign properly replaced.

"Jacob?"

"Sorry. Tell Fred I'll be there, too." I replied, not taking my eyes off the sign, still.

I heard Evie walk away without another word as I looked down at the door, and walked inside.

The bell above the door rang loudly, and I suddenly felt a large blast of cold air. It alarmed me how cold it felt inside than outside. I noticed the hearth was carrying only embers, and the man at the desk with his back towards me beside the window was warming his hands with a lone candle on the desk. I recognized him once I saw which fingers from his gloves were missing.

"Bob!" I started.

He jumped in his seat and sprun 'round, pressing a finger to his lips in desperation. But it was too late.

"Cratchit!" I heard a grouchy voice. "What have I said about you having company during the working hours!"

Bob turned towards the man who was at his desk in the darkness of the next room among all the piled books and thick, dusty air. "None who knows me are welcome unless they are customers, sir."

"Indeed." He wheezed. "Are you here upon business then, young man? Come over here and I will deal with you."

My breath caught in my throat, but I did my best to ignore how scared I really felt. I faced down Crawford Starrick armed with the Shroud, so a grouch of an old man should not have shaken me. And yet…

I walked into the next room, taking off my hat. "Good afternoon, sir. Am I speaking to Mr. Scrooge of Scrooge and Marley's?"

The old man leaned forward in the dark, and I finally caught a glimpse of him. He wore his hair long in the back, but bald on the top. He had spectacles that made him look very angry, although that was also thanks to the expression that he was wearing. He gave a formal presence to me all the same, although it did very little to ease my jangled nerves.

"Marley has been dead for seven years, my boy. In fact, he died seven years ago to this very day."

I don't know how, but something about how he was now speaking seemed to give me courage, no matter how angry he looked. "A true shame, sir." I said. "And on Christmas Eve! What a true shame!"

"None so much of a shame as Christmas itself!" He replied. "Bah! Humbug!"

Now, his tone or attitude did not surprise me in the slightest. I knew the old geezer would still put up a fight, but I was at least betting Evie had worn him down a little.

"You call Christmas a humbug, Mr. Scrooge. And what is humbug about it?"

"I feel not the need to talk about such useless things as Christmas. If you have business with me, state your name and what you want, and we shall then discuss. Nothing more to do with this humbug."

I nodded. "Right then, sir." I said, playing along. "My name is Sir Jacob Frye-"

Scrooge suddenly held up his hand, sneering at me. I could see his teeth, and quite a few were crooked, while all of them a pale yellow. "You wouldn't happen to be family with one Miss Evie Frye who was in here not one hour ago? You share the surname of that woman, and the given name of my long dead partner."

No use denying it. "What is your beef with such a wonderful holiday as Christmas, Mr. Scrooge?" I asked. "My sister and I see it as an opportunity for the rich to finally give back to the poor that they crush under their boots for the whole year 'round."

He stood up, looking down hard at me. "I already got an earful enough from the Dame Frye, Sir Frye! And if I am not mistaken, you might as well be the same Frye that leads the criminal syndicate of the Rooks of Whitechapel! You have caused enough trouble for us hard workingmen this whole year! Disrupt some other's work day and let me get back to mine own!"

He pointed angrily at the door, but I only sat there. He couldn't make me leave.

"Get out, Frye! Christmas is nothing more but a rotting humbug!"

"Please listen to him, Jacob."

Bob was now out of his seat, grabbing onto my hand, and trying to pull me out of the office. I angrily shook my head as I got out of my chair and as Bob led me to the door, I kept looking back at the old crone. But he wasn't paying attention anymore. He had gone back to his books the second that I had left his office.

The door suddenly flew open, and another familiar face stepped right in.

"Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!"

It all suddenly made sense to me. Clara had found out that we had met Fred almost a week ago, and now she wanted us to see the results of his uncle's greed. This man and his stinginess was probably the one thing standing in the way of salvation for the little boy, Tim.

Another "Bah! Humbug" came from old Scrooge.

Fred stood right before him, perplexed. "Christmas a humbug, Uncle? Why, you don't mean that, I am sure." He said from the door.

"I do." He replied. "'Merry Christmas!' What right have you to be all merry and jolly, nephew? It doesn't make you any richer!"

"No." Fred admitted. "But then, what right have you to be all monrose and dismal? It doesn't make you any poorer. Aside from your spirit."

I stood by the door as Fred walked into his office and Bob and I listened.

"BAH! HUMBUG!" Scrooge thundered.

"Don't be cross, Uncle." Fred replied.

"What else can I be, when I live in such a world packed full of foolish idgets such as this? 'Merry Christmas'?! Out upon the whole this whole thing! What's Christmastime to you, but a time for paying bills without the money for it? You know what it is to me? Just another work day! A time to find yourself another year older, but not a pound richer! A time to balance your books and find that every item inside them through a whole round dozen of months to be stacked against you! If I could have my will, then every fool who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips would be boiled in his own pudding! And buried with a whole stake of holly in his heart!"

Fred was horrified. "Uncle!" He gasped at the cruel words.

"Nephew, only do as I ask: Keep Christmas in your own way, and I will keep it in mine."

That was enough for me. I walked right back into his office and slammed my foot down so hard, I could almost bet the floorboard would give with one more stomp. "But you don't keep it at all, Mr. Scrooge!" I snapped.

"Then let me leave it alone, Frye! I told you to be off with you! Much good has it done you." He mocked. "Much good it has ever done anyone!"

"It _has_ done good for me, sir! It's the one day of the year that neither me nor my sister see the need to be at each other's throats every waking minute of every mortal day!"

Fred nodded to me. "He speaks true words in the good it brings, Uncle! There aren't many times that I have faced profit among the holiday. But I am always sure that Christmastime is a time of good! The only time where both men and women alike can open their shut up hearts and be free about it! And to think of the people less privileged as them, as if they are fellow passengers on the train to the grave, and not another flock of pigeons flying South to another direction. Therefore, Uncle, as Mr. Jacob well knows it as well as I do, that while it has never brought me a single shilling into my pocket, but perhaps a few out of it, it has done me every bit of good as it has for anyone in my own shoes! And for that, I say God bless it! God bless us all!"

I grinned, and heard clapping from behind me in the other room. Scrooge looked over my shoulder and gave a quivering finger to Bob.

"Let my ears be touched with another sound from you, Cratchit, and you will keep your Christmas following your dismissal!"

He glared back up at his nephew. "You've quite a gift with the way of words, Fredrick. It's a true wonder you don't go into parliament."

Hah. Imagine him, the man having tea with Disraeli himself. I surely couldn't.

"Please don't be cross with me, Uncle." Fred practically pleaded. "Come and dine with me and my wife on the morrow."

Scrooge put his quill back in the inkwell. "I will see you… but it will be after you are _damned!_ "

I kept silent with shock and fury while Fred spoke for both of us.

"But why, Uncle? Do tell me why?"

He said nothing for a moment before replying with another question. "Why did _you_ get married?"

"Why does anyone marry, Uncle?! I fell in love!"

"Because you fell in love!" Scrooge repeated, scoffing. "Good afternoon!"

"But Uncle, you never came to see me before I married!" Fred said. "Why give that as a reason for not coming to see me now?"

"Good afternoon!" Scrooge repeated.

"I don't want anything from you, Uncle. Not money, not gifts, not this business of yours. All I want is for us to be friends!"

"Good AFTERNOON!"

"C'mon Fred." I said, pulling the man away as he put his top hat on his head and started for the door with me.

"I truly am sorry with all my heart, Uncle, to find you so resolute. We have had scarce a quarrel before. But I have made a great trial in keeping my homage to Christmas, and I'll keep it to the last moment of my life! So a Merry Christmas, Uncle!"

"GOOD AFTERNOON!"

We both started for the door, and after Fred went out the door, I leaned back in and gave one last quip. "And a Happy New Year!" I added.

" _GOOD AFTERNOON!_ "

Fred sighed as we walked down the streets of London, underneath the snowfall. "I was hoping that you would be able to knock some sense into him, Jacob." He said.

"Did you know I was going to be here right now?" I asked.

"Truly, I didn't. However, I had met with your sister the other day, and she told me that you had been asked by that good girl Clara to try and talk to Uncle Ebenezer. I trust she told you that you are invited to spend Christmas Eve with my wife and myself? We have friends over every year for drinks and parlor games, and Old Charles always enjoys the festivities as much as anyone well should. So I insisted to my wife that she meet the two who have made London a much better place for us all. Rich and poor alike. I hope to see you both at seven, sharp."

"We'll be there, Fred. Can't hold my excitement."

I continued walking the rest of the way until I spotted the green Rooks carriage, and flagged it down. The Rook that had been driving slid over as I climbed up and took the reins. Time to head home.

When I finally tracked down the train as it rattled across the overpass above the street, I made a move I had wanted to for months, ever since I had my rope launcher fitted into my gauntlet. I handed the reins to the Rook, and he waved them furiously, the carriage gaining speed as I climbed onto the top of the carriage. When we were just under the edge of the overpass I jumped and shot my rope launcher into the air, hooking the top of the overpass, and flying up onto it just as the last carriage of the train rattled past. As soon as I had climbed up on top, I sprinted off and climbed into the back carriage.

When I reached the living carriage, I saw Evie at the table, drinking a small glass of water.

"You were right, Evie. That old bastard was a real-" I stopped.

She had been talking with someone, and he stood up, turning towards me.

"Oh, I'm sorry Jacob." He said. "Were you talking at the moment? Would you like to finish what you were saying?"

"…shit." I muttered as I stared right back into the face of George Westhouse.

* * *

George grabbed me by the shirt collar and pushed me down into my seat at the table beside Evie, then sat across from the two of us.

"'I'll see you back in Crawley.' I had said." He snarled. "Yes, I do believe I said exactly that. 'I will **see you back in Crawley!** ' Then I find out that not only did you both _not_ go back home like I had told you to, but you went straight to London, disobeying my orders!"

"It was all Jacob's idea, George!" Evie said.

"Evie!"

"Be quiet! The both of you!" He snapped. "The Council was furious when they saw the first batch of papers. And then came the next one! And the next one! Murder of Twopenny at the Bank of England nearly causing the whole economy to capsize! Then Lord Cardigan right in the Halls of Parliament! Hell, you both just barely managed to stop the Blighters from blowing up St. Pancras station two months ago!"

"George, I just want to say…"

"What _do_ you want to say, Jacob?!" He snarled. "You clearly have some explaining to do. What happened to 'hide in plain sight'?! That does not mean starting a gang up and causing all manner of chaos to erupt right on the streets of London! I'm amazed this whole city is still standing with you two watching over it!"

Evie and I blankly stared at each other. We had done much more than the Council ever did without their help and broke the machine of the Templars in less than a whole year, and this was the thanks that we had gotten.

"I think you should at least know that the Council are all in talks to strip you both of your hoods. The judgment will be made by New Year's."

"New Year's?!" Evie cried. "How could they?!

George glared at her, then me. "It will serve you both right for disobeying my orders, breaking the second tenet of the Creed," He was so mad, he was covering his mouth up with his gauntleted fist. "Nearly destroying England's economy, and- I'm sorry! The look on your faces!" He suddenly started laughing uncontrollably pointing at us both as he howled. He was laughing so hard I was afraid he might fall out of his seat. He nearly did, no thanks to the lurching train. Finally, when he had settled down, and Evie had gotten him a glass of water, he regained his composure.

"A little joke, you two." He said.

"You bastard!" I gasped, still red in the face from how scared he had made us both. Evie was smiling a little, but she too did not appreciate this jest.

"Honestly, George. What were you hoping to get out of this joke? You frightened us both nearly half to death!"

"My point exactly, children!" He chuckled. "I was only going to get a chance to do it once, so I thought I might as well make the most out of it."

"So what happened back in Crawley?" I asked.

"Well, truly I knew exactly where you both had gone when I didn't find you back home. I stayed in Crawley, though. But when the Council started seeing the papers, they were pressuring me to head to London immediately to stop this whole thing. And while I considered it, I was already amazed enough at how much the both of you were doing in taking apart Starrick's empire. I know that your father would be vastly proud of you both by how much you have done in the course of less than a godforsaken year! You both should be proud of yourselves, too. You have done everything that the Council or the Masters of our branch never did, and this is why they told me to come here as soon as I could to do this. Both of you stand up."

The three of us all stood up, and George placed his hands on one of each of our shoulders.

"Jacob and Evie Frye. By the command of the Council of Assassins of England, I hereby bestow the ranking of Master Assassin to each of you! May the Creed guide you both, you vagrants!"

We both grinned. "Nothing is True." We recited.

"Everything is Permitted." George replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hope you all had an awesome Christmas. I am behind in finishing this, but it's because I have been busy doing what we all should be doing these holidays. Spending time with our families! And I went to go see Force Awakens with them last night, then have to work today on Boxing Day. But I will be doing all I can to get all this done. I might add a little New Year's fluff at the end, if all things go well! I hope you all enjoy the presents you got! I got an awesome black beaked AC hoodie! Now I really am a fan! Enjoy the next chapter!**

* * *

 **Scrooge**

The events that transpired with Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge that night were strange to say the least. It was months before he told anyone what exactly had happened, but it was enough time that eventually, Charles learned what had happened from us. With Mr. Scrooge's permission, he published the man's experience into a novel that became yet another one of his treasured classics.

The strange things he told us, and how they transpired. He told us how the first two ghosts actually took the forms of my sister and I, but the third was indeed the most frightening. Charles had to omit a few details from the book has he wrote it, but I remember everything that he had told me, beginning right from what had happened after the Ghost of Marley had visited him. This is how the rest of it transpired.

* * *

" _I am here tonight, Ebenezer, to bring you a warning. A warning of how you may yet have one more chance left to escape the fate reflecting in the chain of sins that you have already forged! Or be fated to chains tenfold worse than mine!_ "

"Oh, Marley!" Scrooge cried. "You were always such a true friend! I thank thee!"

" _Thank me not yet, old friend! For you will be haunted by spirits thrice tonight! Three more ghosts! Each more frightening than the last, and each on a quest to either save your soul, or take it!_ "

"Marley?" He asked. "Is this the chance that you have mentioned it me?"  
" _It is."_

"I…I think I'd rather not, thank you very much! Why not they all have it all at once and be done with it?"

" _Expect the first when the bell tolls one!_ " He moaned, ignoring him. " _The second at the same hour! And the third when the last stroke of midnight has ceased to vibrate!_ "

Without another word, the apparition of Marley suddenly drifted to the window, and shot out of it with a hellish howl throughout the night. Scrooge went to bed, quivering and whimpering at every shadow that seemed to dance before his eyes in the small flicker of the candlelight.

"Hum-" He stopped himself, though he did not cease to think the word of the whole thing. This was all a jest played by those two. Yes, the Fryes. They were up to this. Perhaps Cratchit or Fred had put them up to it. Yes, that was it! And that was all it ever would be! Like he had said to Marley, it was all just a bit of bad beef.

* * *

Scrooge woke to the sound of his grandfather clock suddenly tolling. He heard the clock toll twelve times, which meant it was within the hour of twelve. Then he heard the following dongs. It baffled him, however. He had gone to bed at two. Perhaps the ice had gotten to the inner workings of his clock. He would look at it in the morning. But all the same, he noticed out his window how dark it was. He hadn't slept the whole day through, had he? Or, mayhaps, it had all been some kind of dream?

 _Ding-dong_! Quarter past…

 _Ding-dong_! Half past…

 _Ding-dong_! Three Quarters past…

 _Ding dong_! The hour itself…

"Oh no…"

 _DONG!_ One o'clock

He suddenly felt a blinding flash of light hit him where he sat in his bed, and watched as a the form of a woman came through the light. She wore a glowing white cloak, and had long golden hair tied up in a braid over her shoulder. She had different hair, but Scrooge thought it to be her.

"Miss Frye? That is you, isn't it?"

She only smiled. "No. I am only the spirit whose coming was foretold to you. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Scrooge sat up in bed even more. "The distant past?" He asked.

"No." She replied. "Only your past."

"And what business has brought you here to me?" He demanded.

"Your welfare."

"I thank'ee then!" He replied. But he would have preferred a night of unbroken rest, truly.

The spirit held her hand out towards Scrooge. "Your reclamation, then. Take heed!" She said.

Scrooge took her hand, and stood.

"Walk with me." She said, tugging at her braid with the other hand. "Bear but a touch of my hand, and we shall walk together."

The light radiating off of the spirit seemed to blind Scrooge even further. He could not see for what felt like hours, but suddenly he could feel him standing in the cold. He was outside, he could feel. And as his vision returned to him, he noticed he was standing in a grove beside the spirit. A familiar grove.

"Good heaven above!" He cried out. "This place…I was born here in this town!"

The spirit glimpsed at him. "Your lip trembles." She observed. "And what is that down your cheek?"

Scrooge could feel it, but he hid it all the same. He would not show weakness to this apparition, the cruel jester Evie Frye, or a real spirit in her form regardless. "Only a pimple." He replied. "Oh, hum. Lead me where I am to go." He said.

"Can you remember the way?" She asked.

Scrooge almost laughed at that. A real laugh. "Remember? I could walk it blindfolded if you asked me to!"

"Strange." The spirit replied. "For you have forgotten it in so many years, yet say such a bold statement as that."

All the same, Scrooge and the spirit walked forwards together into the town, and into his childhood.

A childhood of both joy and great pain, as Scrooge soon saw before him. How he cast out his only true love, Belle. For nothing more than his greedy and empty love for money.

The spirit then showed another memory after the last.

" _Once shadow more, Ebenezer._ " She said, waving her white cloak.

The last one he had seen was the last he had seen of Belle, when she broke off her engagement to him. A golden idol, she said, had displaced her. His love of wealth, lest her.

"No more!" He cried. "I do not wish to see another, spirit! You have shown me enough!"

But he had not seen this before, simply because it was not a memory of his own. He could see Belle sitting in a chair by the hearth with children. _Her_ children, he knew. Three daughters and two sons. And as she and them laughed and shared stories of their day, the door opened and the youngest leapt up in joy. The husband that Scrooge could have been for Belle laughed as he embraced his children, and dragged his weary self into the other chair by the fire.

"Belle, I saw an old friend of yours today, this afternoon." He said to his wife.

She was truly intrigued. "Well, who was it?"

"Guess!" He grinned.

"Oh, but how can I?" She said, thinking hard in her chair. But finally, she threw up her hands. "I don't know, Ebenezer Scrooge?"

Her husband chortled. "Why, Mr. Scrooge it very was. I passed by his office and spotted him in the window. He had not shut it up, and he had only a candle inside. I really couldn't help but see him, anyways. His partner lies on his death bed, I hear. But there he still sat, alone as ever in the world. Alone as anyone ever will be."

The spirit in the form of Evie Frye glared at him as Scrooge looked up at her, pleadingly. "Please, spirit. Show me no more!"

" _But why loose your anger and guilt on me?_ " She demanded. " _I have only shown you of what happened before. They are only what they are. Do not blame anyone else but your own pitiful self!_ "

Scrooge noticed the cap attached to her belt, and snatched it away from her.

"Remove me!" He cried out, raising the cap high. "I cannot bear it! TAKE ME BACK! HAUNT ME NO LONGER!" He slammed it down on her, leaving him in the dark of his own bedchamber.

* * *

 **Jacob and Evie**

Fred and his wife, Alice were the most gracious hosts when we arrived at their home in Westminster. Quite a few of his friends recognized both of us as the twins who liberated Whitechapel, and dominated the fight clubs. I had brought upon many a shilling to them for how good I was in the ring. So many of them placed their bets on me or Evie when we entered the ring, and we walked out with all kinds of newfound wealth for how good we both could snap a finger like a twig.

"Quite the arm breaker this man is, Fred!" The man named Topper said as he slapped me on the back. "And I bet you and your sister have had quite the holiday already?" He asked me.

"Sir, you would not believe how quiet it has been, really. I almost think the rest of the Blighters have turned tail and ran." I chuckled.

"Then I say jolly good riddance." Fred replied. "The Rooks have brought goodwill upon the poor people of this city, not extorting and intimidating like the Blighters. I see a great and prosperous future to us all, now!"

The door suddenly flew open and Charles ran inside, nearly out of breath.

"So sorry! Another one of my notes had gotten loose and I had to chase after it! Missed my train." He gasped and breathed slowly as I rna and got him a pint and Evie sat him down. "Ah! Thank you, Fryes. What are we talking about, here?"

"We were just going to start the parlour games!" Fred announced.

"An excellent idea, dear." Alice said. She glimpsed at me and Evie. "Fryes. Would either of you like to start?"

Evie pointed at me as I grimaced. "Jacob loves charades back in Crawley. He can go first."

I did my best to fake a smile. Truthfully, I was not overly fond of charades. Last time I played it, Evie did the most dreadful impression of a chimpanzee, and then said that she was thinking of me. But then, as I thought of what to do, it hit me right there.

I got up from my seat, holding up a hand. "Have any of you have a coin purse on you, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Here, Jacob." Fred said, handing a plain one to me. "You can use mine."

I took it, then closed my mouth to begin my clues. I held up a finger.

"One word." Alice said.

I nodded, then stomped once.

"One syllable." Evie said.

I took out a couple of the coins in Fred's purse, then squeezed them as hard as I could, as though they were my closest friends I could not bear to part with any of them. Of course, this was not far from the truth for who I was thinking of.

"Fist?"

"Coins?"

"Pound! The British Pound!"

I shook my head, then thought of how I could go a step further to spell it out much better. I put all but one of the coins back into the purse, and then put the sole shilling between my forefinger and thumb. I pinched it hard and then hunched my shoulders to look like an old man. I scrunched my nose and gave the best scowl I could. It was too easy from there, though they used a few more guesses.

"Old man!"

"Cheapskate!"

Evie got it right there. "Scrooge! Ebenezer Scrooge!"

I yelled out a "hah!" and the rest of the room roared with laughter. Even Fred and his wife couldn't help but chuckle, despite my admittedly cruel jest of his only other relative.

"Jacob and I had seen him today!" He said. "He called Christmas nothing more than a humbug, I tell you! I think he believed it all the same!"

"Then more shame for him, Fred." Alice replied.

Fred turned to his wife as he stood. "He's a comical old one, really. Not truly as pleasant as he might want to be, though. But, his offences towards the season have their own punishments to go along with them." He spoke out to the room. "I have nothing to say against my uncle, dear friends! He is wealthy, but he sadly doesn't spend any of it. He doesn't even have the satisfaction that he will benefit another with it!"

"He only hoards it, Fred." I said back.

"Here, here." Charles said, quietly.

"I had little patience with him today." Evie agreed,

"Nor I!"

"And I as well!"

Fred only grinned. "Ah, but friends, I surely have plenty with him. It would be near impossible for me to be mad at him, even if I were to try! It's only he, who truly suffers at his own ill whims. I mean, he took it into his head only to dislike us and he refused to me yet again to come and dine with me and my wife tomorrow. But at what consequence? All he would lose is a perfectly fine dinner."

Alice smirked. "Indeed. He would lose a _very_ fine dinner."

"Well, my wife. I am glad to hear it, because I have very little faith in the perfections of the study in culinary to our housekeepers."

The lot of us laughed at that joke, then Fred glanced at me as I sat back down.

"What are your thoughts on my uncle from what you haven't yet said, Jacob?"

"Oh, Fred!" Alice said. She grinned at me. "Let him finish, my dear Jacob. My husband never finishes what he begins to say, the scatterminded fellow."

I kept my mouth shut as Evie and I listened further to Fred.

"I was _going_ to say that the only consequences he truly is brought by taking a dislike to me and the whole pack of us is that he, as I think, will only miss a pleasant evening, which would do him absolutely no harm. I'm sure he loses more pleasant fellows than he can find in his own thoughts, and wither away in his dusty old counting room, or his home. Friends, I always mean to give him another chance with each passing year wether he likes it or not, because in truth, I pity him more than any other feelings I feel for him."

"And why, Fred?" Evie asked. "I would not repeat what the man dared to call me today when I told him he holds onto a hay penny like Jacob to a pint!"

I rolled my eyes as I heard another chuckle amongst the gathering.

"Evie, I hope you consider my uncle better than that. He might cry his anger at Christmas until the day that he dies, but I know that he can't help but think any better of it if I find myself each year, going into his counting house, and wishing him a Merry Christmas, and that God save him." He sighed. "If only he puts it into his poor heart that he at least leave a measurable sum to Bob, then that is what I consider something. And you know what? I really think that with the help of you and your brother, we may have shaken it out of him."

While the whole parlour laughed at that, Fred then held up his champagne glass, and only smiled.

"He has given us quite a merry time, even if it is at his expense or not. In fact, if he would have it, there would be no expense at all."

"Hah!" I chuckled.

"But all the same, it would be wrong for us not to toast in his health, right? So I say 'to my Uncle Scrooge'!"

I shrugged, and Evie and I held up our drinks along with the whole of the lot of us. "Aye! To Scrooge!" I said with the whole of us.

"May he have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. He would not take it from me, but I would think that he should have it all the same. Wherever he is, I pray he is well. To Uncle Scrooge!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sad to have taken this fic on longer than I wanted to, but I am sure there is only one chapter after this, and I might have time to work on a small New Year's chapter to finish this off. Hope you're all having a great week!**

* * *

Chapter 5

 **Scrooge**

The first spirit in the form of Evie Frye had shown him his past, but it was too painful for him to commit to looking back at again. How he lost his only real love to his greed. And how he felt such repent at it all. It was all looking like such a waste of it all. Scrooge was starting to see the real consequences that his greed had put onto others. And when the bell tolled two, another spirit appeared, this time in a lime green coat and a top hat, looking much like the boy, Jacob Frye. But he was not such the same, just as the first one was. He was the Ghost of Christmas Present, and he had done showing Scrooge the present in which his nephew and the twins attended to a party where they made japes and jests about him. Ones that he was seeing, were not at all untrue. When the spirit took him from the party, he was curious of what to ask him next.

"What else have you to show me? And are spirits' lives so short as I have heard?"

The spirit that looked like Frye nodded, pulling down the brim of his top hat, which had several leaves of holly stuck to it. " _It is so, Scrooge. My time is very short in this mortal world. In fact, it ends this very night._ "

"Tonight?!"

" _Is there an echo? Yes, indeed!_ " He laughed, but it was not long. His face went serious once again. " _And woe, for that time is drawing near, yet I still have much left to show._ "

When next he knew, Scrooge was in the kitchen of a very modest looking home. He was not truly there, and yet he felt even colder in there than he did in his counting house. He saw the man, Cratchit with his own family, gathering around the table for their Christmas dinner. Scrooge was dismayed at how little they had to put on the table, but even more so when he saw the little boy hobbling towards the table, the most fierce determination in his eyes to overcome his bum leg, and reach his seat.

"Oh, the Christmas goose!" He cried out, as he noticed it on the table. While it was not a big goose, Scrooge could see the joy in the boy's eyes all the same.

"Spirit, who is that boy?"

" _That is your clerk's boy, Tim. Though most call him Tiny._ " He replied.

"How was Tim at church, dear?" Cratchit's wife inquired.

"Oh, he was as good as gold and better. Did you know what he said to me on our walk home? He said to me that he hoped that everyone noticed him with his crutch. When I asked him why, he replied so that they may be reminded how we celebrate the birth of who made the cripples walk and the blind see."

His wife held her hands to her mouth in silence, her eyes watering. Scrooge himself felt something come over him. Something similar as to when he was seeing how Fred and his friends made their japes at him, and how he had turned away the love and the life he could have once had.

"A remarkable child." He breathed as he stared at him, an unseen phantom. "Tell me, spirit. What has happened for his leg to seize and never work the same again?"

" _Such a good boy he is, indeed._ " The spirit replied. " _So much that he received work in a factory outside town to help with his family's insignificant pay. And he received the loss of his job and an injury that may never heal simply because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time._ "

Scrooge watched on with silence, as the family feasted on the goose they barely had been able to afford.

"And such a meager feast." He said,

" _Yet appreciated as much as any other._ " The spirit replied.

"But I pay Cratchit such a small amount."

" _And it helps them very little. Especially with what else inflicts his son aside from his shattered leg._ "

"What else inflicts him? Spirit! What can you mean by this? Tell me Tiny Tim might live! Please let it be so!"

The spirit pulled the brim of his top hat down on his head, over his eyes. He turned his head around the room, and then pulled it back up to free his eyes again.

" _I have seen what will be, Scrooge, if the shadows remain unchanged. A vacant seat beside the hearth of this home. And a crutch without an owner, propped against it._ "

"NO!" Scrooge cried. "No, spirit! Say it not be true! Let the boy be spared! I did not mean for it to happen!"

The spirit did not seem to be shaken by what he pleaded him for. He only glared down at him. " _If they are not altered by the future, then neither me, nor any other spirit of my race will find the boy here. And why not?_ " He mocked. " _If he is meant to die, then maybe he should, to spare us all the misery and decrease the surplus population._ "

Scrooge was about to hit back with his own words, but they caught behind his tongue. He had said something none too similar to charity collectors only the other day after Frye and Fred had paid him the visit.

The spirit's expression lightened. " _Scrooge, if man be in your heart, then you need know what the surplus actually means than what you filter it to be. When that time comes, will you decide if one man should live, or another should die? To many others, it would be seen to them that you are less fit to live than the millions just like Tiny here. OH WOE! To hear such words spoken! To hear the ant pronounce 'too much life' to his brothers that live amongst the dirt and the dust!_ "

Scrooge looked down at his slippers, knowing that this wasn't less or more than what he deserved. Every shilling he didn't spend to better another poor man's life was wasted away, gathering dust, making another strike into the dirt with his mortal spade. And the hole that was nearly finished with every sin that he had cast, he would soon fall into, yet he had not another's soul left to blame but hisself's.

"Mr. Scrooge!"

He was brought back to the kitchen by the sound of his clerk's voice, but it sounded much louder and joyful than he knew from his years working in the counting house. Cratchit held up his mug as his family gathered around the hearth to get warm.

"I give you Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, the bringer of this feast!"

He could scarce believe what he had heard. His own clerk, who he paid so little in both mind and money, was toasting to his health! Bob's wife, however, did not so much agree.

"Puh!" She scoffed. "The bringer of this feast indeed! I wish him to be standing here right before me, Robert. I'd give him my _mind_ for him to feast on, and I would see him to have a good appetite for it."

"Dear, it is Christmas." Cratchit replied. "Please think of our children."

"Robert, it really should be Christmas Day, but it rarely can, thanks to such a stingy, greedy, hard, rigid, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge! You know as well as anyone that he is just that, and only that, Robert! Actually, no one knows it as well as you do!"

"My dear." Bob replied, smiling. "It is still Christmas."

"Yes, Mother." Tim said, smiling. "And I agree with Father. He brought us this feast, whence he know it or not, or even cares for it or not. And I say to that fact that we should all bless him and hope that he has as Merry of a Christmas as the rest of us! God save Ebenezer Scrooge!"

Mrs. Cratchit was aghast at how her son could say things about him, but not nearly as much as Scrooge himself. The old one was as perplexed at the young enigma that sat on his father's lap with his crutch in hand. And how he held up his crutch, not like the torch of a mob's, but like an olive branch from a dove. And the joy of how the boy felt as he blessed the poor man seemed to move through each one of them in that room. They would have put on their smiles only to please the little one, but Scrooge could feel them actually agree with him. But it only made him feel more regret and remorse.

The spirit then brought him out of the hovel to see the other people sharing in the festivities. How they sang and danced and drank and talked, and how they did not spend any second to themselves alone, but with at least one more soul to share in the season with them. He could hear the song play out as the spirit and him glided through the streets of London, from the backalleys of Whitechapel, all the way to the brightest parks of Westminster.

" _Oh come all ye faithful/ joyful and triumphant/ oh come ye/ oh come ye/ to Bethlehem._ "

Lost for words, Scrooge looked at the spirit, only then noticing a dark and ominous shape at the hem of his coat where he feet should be.

"Spirit." He said. "Forgive me, for I may not be justified to inquire, but I feel I must know. I see something queer about from your skirts that does not look to belong to you. Is it a foot, or a claw?"

The spirit glared down at him once again. " _It is neither._ " He said, lifting it. " _Look here._ "

Scrooge looked with fearful curiosity as he did as the spirit commanded. He saw two children with rotting gray flesh upon their skin, hanging just as loose as their ratted clothing on their bodies.

"Spirit! Are they yours?"

" _Nay._ " He replied. " _They be man's. And they cling to me, appealing for their fathers. The boy is Ignorance, and the girl is Want. Be ware of them both, Scrooge. And all that follow them as you have before. But most of all, be ware for what is written on the boy's brow. I can see upon it a doom which cannot be unwritten, unless the shadows be altered by what has yet to come. Go forth, and continue to deny it with all your doomed soul! Resume with your devotion to them both, and make it much worse than it already has been! And then BIDE in the end!_ "

Scrooge whimpered as he looked up at the spirit. "Have they no refuge or resources?"

Strangely, the spirit pulled the hat off his head, and dropped it to the ground as he raised a hood Scrooge never saw on his wastecoat. " _Have they no prisons?_ "He replied, echoing another set of sinful words said by none other than him. " _Are there no workhouses?_ "

* * *

 **Jacob and Evie**

Long after the parlour games were done, and the drinks were finished, Fred and his wife decided that it be best we all retire to our homes and spend the last hours of Christmas Eve in our own homes. So Jacob and I packed up and set on our way into the snow for home to the train. George had also said to us before we left for Fred's that he was in town to celebrate Christmas with us, and had brought presents for the two of us. I had both perfect gifts for both Henry and Jacob that I was eager to give them to. It took me weeks in India to find Henry's gift, and Jacob's I had been working on almost as long as we had been in London. But I think I finally got it right, and had both gifts ready for the morning. Jacob took the reins this time as we heralded a Rooks carriage and started home for the night.

Jacob kept silent most of the way over, which I knew meant that he was contemplating on whatever was on his mind in the past few days. I knew this easy enough because it happened rarely, yet not so scarcely that I could easily know it when I saw it.

As we headed over the bridge across the Thames, we saw that the snow clouds above were parting in one spot, rightly giving way for the pale crescent moon to sink through. Jacob still remained as silent as ever, even as I saw his eyes glisten as they looked up at the moon.

Eventually I could no longer stand it. I, Evie Frye, eldest of the twins, could no longer bear to see my brother sit beside me with not so much as a whisper. I started for him.

"I was talking to Charles before we left."

Jacob said nothing, but he glimpsed over to assure me he was listening.

"He says all this business with Cratchit and Fred has given him inspiration for his novel he was discussing. He's thinking of writing a tale about a man like Fred and his efforts to protect the poor from his miserable uncle."

"I don't like the sound of that, Evie." He replied.

Now I really was surprised. "Whatever for? You and I both faced that man earlier today! He's little more than an old geezer with not a care in the world aside from his money, of which he doesn't even spend. What kind of man turns down friends and family to spend Christmas alone like that?"

"I don't know, dear sister." He replied. "But I doubt it's because of pure greed and nothing more. There's just something about how Fred views his uncle that makes me think there could be much more to him than meets the eye. Was he robbed by poor beggars? Swindled from a fortune by a long lost relative? There are many mysteries that I would always dare to go into and try to conquer without a single sliver of an answer. And yet this man, I don't wish to judge as I have before because he is not a Templar, nor a man who consciously steals from the poor. You always told me to look at something deeper than it's face value. Well, this is me finally trying to do so. I say that the most we can do is only hope for a miracle, and not show up to his home in the middle of Christmas Eve night, kicking down his doors and tossing him down the stairs."

I could barely believe what I heard. My own brother, THE Jacob Frye, thinking before acting. Although, I decided to test one part of that right there just to make sure he was feeling alright.

"You hesitate to do what you would normally do to him, but would it be any different if he _was_ a Templar?"

"Hah!" He replied. "Then it would be business as usual, Evie."

We heard the bells of Big Ben toll loudly as we neared the other side of the Thames. I glanced back and saw both hands pointed directly up. Midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Jacob."

He grinned and whipped the reins. "Merry Christmas, Evie." He replied.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm sorry this final update took so long to do. After the New Year, things got really busy for me. I've barely had the time to write the next chapter for Assassin's Creed Faith, despite me having over a month of a break on it. But to make up for it, I have made this chapter the longest one of them all in this short fic. I know it's late to also say this, but Happy New Year! Even with celebrities like David Bowie and Alan Rickman passing away, this is still going to be a good year. I can be hopeful for that. Anyways, enjoy the last chapter of this short, but meaningful fic! Cheers! Also, the Ghost of Christmas Past was based off of Evie. The Ghost of Christmas Present was Jacob. Can you guess who the Ghost of Christmas Future should be based on, judging on what it always looks like in the story?**

* * *

 **Scrooge**

Scrooge lay in his bed once more, but he felt all his courage leave him again as the bell tolled a twelfth time. He had lit a candle earlier, and it had stayed lit with the past two ghosts. But as soon as the twelfth toll rang out, and then became silent, all the light in the room went out, and Scrooge felt the most dreadful chill come over him as he stood before the last spirit.

The hood made him instantly assume that this figure before him was none other than Death itself. But as he got a closer look, he saw that this phantom in the form of a reaper looked very different than any others. It's hood was torn badly, to make him look as frightening as ever, yet was white as the freshest blanket of snow. Not black, to show the darkness of death. He could see the reaper's hands, which looked like the skeletal hands of a cadaver long passed. But they shone like steel, not a mortal's bones. And the scythe that it was leaning on looked just as queer of a contraption as the hood that it was wearing and it's bones. His scythe looked like any other's, but with a strange looking rifle tied to it, or welded to it. He could not see well enough to tell, and was too afraid to care.

"S-spirit." He whispered. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?"

The spirit said nothing, staring blankly out the window, facing away from Scrooge. But as Scrooge got up, it bowed it's head, slowly. Yes.

"And are you to show me the shadows that the other spirits spoke of? What has not happened, but will happen onwards?"

The white hood of the figure, the reaper, contracted, as though it nodded again.

"O, spirit!" Scrooge cried. "Of the three other ghosts I have faced tonight, I feel the most terrible fear from you! More than any other spectre or shape I have seen in my time! But since I know what you are here for, and the message of what I am meant to see, I am prepared to face you as I have the others. Will you speak to me?"

The reaper did not reply. It only turned slowly towards Scrooge, facing him. Scrooge thought he saw the shape of it's face underneath the hood, but he dare not try to see it, for fear of what would happen if he were to stare into the eyes of this spirit. He was as afraid as any man would, to think that he would die if to upset this one. And this reaper, he guessed, was as short tempered as the others. But maybe even more eager to take his damned soul.

"Please, spirit. Lead on, lead on! Dawn draws nearer, and time is now the most precious thing I have more than my money, now. Lead on, spirit."

The reaper raised a bone finger towards the shadows, and Scrooge obeyed, sinking into the darkness. He walked and walked, not daring to look back. Was the spirit right behind him, or beside him, and he did not see? He only walked forwards, following the little light ahead that suddenly appeared to him. A light from above, down on something ahead of him.

When he reached it, he saw what lay in front of him. A body, covered by a large white sheet on a table. The spirit pointed at the body on the table.

Words were not needed. Scrooge knew who this was.

"I understand now." He said. "And if I could in all my power do it, I would. But I don't have it, spirit. I don't have it." He looked up, and did his best to speak while he looked up at it directly. "Tell me of Cratchit, spirit. What happened to Tiny Tim?"

When next he could see again, Scrooge was with the spirit in Cratchit's home once more. He could see his poor wife sitting in front of the fire, praying for something. She said nothing as she did so, but Scooge got a horrible feeling in his heart of what had happened.

The door suddenly flew open as Bob Cratchit stepped inside, quickly closing it behind him so as not to let the winter's chill into his already cool enough home.

The younger children of the family jumped and ran for him, but as Scrooge and the reaper watched, it was clear that someone was missing from the group, and Scrooge dreaded to find out why.

Bob sat down with his wife by the fire and started discussing of how his day had went. How he had been spending most of it still searching for a new job, a statement which intrigued Scrooge.

"Spirit." He asked. "Did I dismiss Cratchit by this time? Is this why he is now unemployed?"

The reaper did nothing except point at Cratchit once again, with no words as the poor man continued.

"I also saw Scrooge's nephew, Fred today." He said. "He could almost see right through me and tell that something was bothering me. 'You look a little bit down today, Bob.' He said. 'Whatever is the matter to have distressed you?'. He was always so kind and understanding when I saw him most often, almost as much as the Fryes. So I told him, and he was dismayed. 'I am truly and heartily sorry, Mr. Cratchit.' He said. 'And heartily sorry for your good wife, too.' It baffles me as to how he even knew that."

"Knew what, my dear?" Emily asked.

"Why, that you are a good wife."

"Oh, father! Everyone knows that!" His eldest, Peter said.

Bob smiled and ruffled his son's hair. "A very astute observation, my son. I sure hope they do."

He continued. "'Heartily sorry for you and your good wife. If there is of any way that I can be of support or help to either you or your family,' He said as he handed me his card. 'That is my address. Please stop by and visit with me and my wife. We would be honored to have you'. It wasn't even that he was saying those things just for the sake of being supportive, mind you. No, my wife, it felt to me as if he really did know Tiny Tim."

The reaper then pointed to something in the corner. Scrooge glimpsed it, but then shut his eyes at the sight of it, screaming in the loudest silence ever as he could. In the corner beside the fireplace, behind the coal bucket, he could see a small stool, with a chipped wooden crutch leaned up against it. The reaper kept pointing at it as Scrooge tried to look away.

"I'm sure Mr. Harris is a good soul, Robert." Emily said.

"Oh, but you would have been even more certain of that if you had been there, my dear." He said. "I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he pulled a few strings and got Peter a better situation."

Belinda, the eldest daughter started to chuckle. "Next we know, he will be setting himself up with someone else! A wife!"

"Aw, get off with it!"

The whole family but Bob laughed, and when they noticed how serious he remained, they hushed down, leaving him to finish what he wanted to say.

"It's as likely as it won't." He sighed. "Though, one of these days it will happen. There is still plenty enough time for that, my dears. But however and whenever we are to part from one another, we shall all agree that we lest forget our Tiny Time, agreed?"

"Agreed, father!" They chorused.

"And I know, this. I _know_ this, my family. That when we remember Tim, we remember him for how kind and patient he was with everyone that he had the chance to truly now, and how he always found it so difficult to quarrel with anyone. And we shall follow in his example and not quarrel so easily amongst ourselves, do we agree?"

"Agreed, father!" They parroted.

He smiled, and opened his arms to his family, filled with the warmth of their embrace as he sobbed. "Oh, I am glad. I am _very_ glad."

* * *

The vision changed, and Scrooge found himself standing in a dark field, with a thick lake of fog burying his slippered feet. The reaper stood by him, leaning on it's scythe, gripping tightly on the trigger of the rifle attached to it. With it's free hand, it pointed to objects on the fog. Large square objects that jutted out of the fog like rotting black teeth in a paper white mouth.

"Spirit." He asked. "Before I proceed further, I must ask you of something for you to answer. All these horrible things that you and the others have shown me. Things that have been, things that are, and things that may be. Can they be altered? Or are they things that will be?"

The spirit said nothing once more, only continuing to point it's metallic bone finger, but this time moving towards a certain tombstone. Freshly dug, as Scrooge could smell the stinking rot and dirt in the air.

"Men's lives foreshadow how they will end, so long as they stay on their course and change nothing. But if they take another path, then surely they will change, right? SAY IT IS TRUE WITH WHAT YOU SHOW ME!"

Silence. The reaper guided Scrooge to the gravestone. He could almost tell whose grave it was, but he needed to know for sure. He could only make out a few letters, and nothing more on the stone.

"Spirit. Whose only grave is this?"

The reaper reached into it's hood and pulled out a small metal box that fit between it's fingers. Flicking the top of it, it opened with a ringing click. Then it flicked a wheel on the inside of the top, and a flame sparked from it. Scrooge now saw the name carved into it, though not with much care, he could tell: Ebenezer Scrooge.

The reaper pointed at the name with the flaming box in it's hand, then slammed it's scythe into the ground beside the headstone, and pointed at Scrooge himself.

"No!" He cried, falling to his knees. "O, spirit! Hear me! I am not the man that I once was. That Scrooge was greedy, caring little more than his pounds and pence! But why would you show all this to me, if there truly is no more hope left?"

Scrooge suddenly noticed something as he looked up at the reaper. He saw it's hand slightly shake, and the glint of someone's eye in the firelight under it's hood.

"Good spirit! Your nature betrays your image, and has shown me something else: You pity me! Please assure me that I may yet be able to change these shadows of what can be in future days! By a changed man!"

The reaper lowered it's finger towards him. It was listening!

"I will honor Christmas with every beat that my now living heart gives. I will keep it alive in the past, in the present, and in the future. All three spirits that I have seen tonight will strive on within me, for I shall not shut out the lessons that they have taught me tonight. Now tell me that I may be able to erase the writings of what I see."

The boned hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Scrooge by the neck. It lifted him upwards and gripped him tightly by the throat. Then, with it's other hand, it lowered it's white hood and Scrooge saw it's face. It was a younger man's face. Black shaggy hair stuck out in different directions, framing a scarred face, with brown eyes and a stubble of a beard, which only amplified his scowl at him.

"Spirit! Tell me it can be changed." He begged.

And the last words that he heard came from the reaper. His expression lightened very slightly, and Scrooge knew as the vision began blurring away from him that he would never forget these words.

"That is only up to you, Scrooge." The reaper replied.

Scrooge was about to reply, but found himself only holding the curtain of his bedframe.

* * *

 **Jacob**

I couldn't sleep all night. When I was a child, I rarely could on Christmas Eve. My father said that I got it from him when he was a boy, and it was only the real expression of my love for the holidays that made me so sleep deprived. So while George, Evie and Henry slept, I got off the train and took a night run. Agnes had shunted the train into a railyard in Whitechapel close by the Frying Pan Pub, so I knew it would be there when I got back.

The city was very quiet as I ran through the night air. I ran across the rooftops, jumping over the narrow alleyways and ducking into courtyards as I wandered around London.

Before long I was sitting down, drinking a new lager I had found the week before. On top of Big Ben, I might add. I think I always had one of these moments on Christmas Eve night. I would quietly sit and just contemplate how the year went and what would happen going forwards. And this year felt to me as if it was the very definition of "eventful". Evie and I saw London for the first time in our lives at the morn of this year, and spent months in the fight of our lives against the ruthless Crawford Starrick, finally crushing the Templar control over the city from the last hundred years. I wasn't sure how long this peace would last, but Evie and I both knew that we would do whatever we could to make sure that it stayed that way for a long time.

The bells in Big Ben tolled loudly, nearly scaring the black out of my hood as I jumped up from my seat. I heard seven tolls, and then noticed the night sky in the east lightening to a deep blue.

"I should be heading back to the train." I said to myself, walking towards the edge of the clock tower. I looked out onto the River Thames, and all of London as I crouched down, an eagle circling closely to the viewpoint.

"Merry Christmas, London." I said, smiling as I jumped, the eagle screeching.

* * *

Evie, George and Henry were already awake when I got back, and they were also still in their nightclothes. A real Christmas morning.

"Off for an early morning stroll, Jacob?" George inquired as I sat down at the table, a pot of tea and cups laid out.

"He does it every year, George." Evie replied. "You just never noticed."

I poured myself a cup of tea and sat back in my chair. "Do I need to put on my nightcap or something? I feel out of place right now with everyone else in their knickers." I chuckled a little.

Henry walked over from the fireplace, carrying four bundles. "Stockings!" He exclaimed.

Like children on Christmas morning, Evie pulled me down and we sat down on the floor beside the tree as George shut the door to the carriage. He then tossed me my nightcap, which I knew must have looked ridiculous with me in my Assassin coat. But none of us cared.

I can recall most of the names of the Rooks that died in the year that Evie and I took trying to take down Starrick, and when and how each of them died. But ask me to recall what I found in my stocking? That's a little too tall and order. But I can recall the last two things I found in them, because in reality, we all get them in our stockings: A box of chocolates, and an orange. Evie and I both laughed as we pulled ours out, grateful George had gone ahead and done the stockings for us.

"What is so funny?" Henry asked as he too pulled out an orange from his stocking.

"Ah, Henry. If you celebrate the holiday even more, you will understand why finding an orange in your stocking is the funniest thing ever. Because it happens every year to everyone."

"Presents!" Evie said, leaning over to the tree. She held out a present in a bag over to me. "Here, Jacob. This is from me."

She seemed really eager for me to open it, so I took it from her and carefully opened the bag as I pulled what was inside. It was sort of small, but quite heavy.

"Spent most of our time in London working on it, and I want you to have the first taste."

When I pulled it out of the bag, I found it to be a filled ceramic bottle with a cork in the top. I turned it over in my hands and grinned. The label on it was one that I had never seen, but understood. A crow with a bishop chess piece in its talons, with the name "Frye and Frye" in big bold letters above it.

"A little early for ale, but I'll love to try it when I get the chance." I said, setting the bottle down.

"Oh, Jacob." George sighed. "When has drinking a well brewed ale in the morning ever been a crime for you? Knock yourself out."

I shrugged, then popped the cork off, tipped the bottle and took a large drink.

It was the most bitter I had ever tasted in anything before, and after drinking goat piss on a dare, that is truly saying something. I even think I felt a few seeds of barley still in the brew that got badly caught in between my teeth. But it was the best one I had ever drank before. And my expression was all Evie needed to see from me.

"Open my gifts next." I said. "They're sort of meant for both you and Henry, but there's two gifts among them that are meant for only one each."

Evie opened the squarish wrapped present first. Two notebooks came out of the paper, and Evie was confused. At first. But Henry understood as he felt the paper.

"These books are meant for pressed flowers." He said. "This is great, Jacob. We can use them when we return to India!"

I grinned. "It's not entirely much, but I hope it's-"

"It's perfect, Jacob." Evie smiled. She reached over and pulled her gift from me. When she finished unwrapping it, she gasped.

I had been spending months working with Aleck Graham Bell on some of his inventions, hoping I could learn a thing from whatever the maniac was tinkering away at. Turns out he had this maddening idea to make a telegraph that transmitted human voices, and not beeps in the form of dots and dashes. So when he finally finished a prototype model, he was immeasurably excited as we tried testing it. It didn't work, shorting out after he hung up the line, but Aleck was too excited and focused to be discouraged from the results. He even gave me the broken prototype as a souvenir. Which I knew Evie would love.

She hugged me tightly as she thanked me, eyeing the coiling of wire around the brass receiver. It was a work in progress, I explained, but it was going to be one invention Aleck was going to change the world with.

"I remember him telling me about this. The 'phonetic telegraph' he called it. I just said it would be so much more simpler if he called it a 'telephone'."

"Hah!" I laughed. "That was the code name we came up for it as we were working on it. We should make sure he credits us when he finishes it."

Henry then pulled out two gift bags from under the tree, holding onto one, and handing the other to me. "Here, Jacob. This one is from me. Evie told me you really should read it."

I waited until he was opening his gift until I did. It was a book that I found inside the bag, but clearly not just any old book. I opened to the title page and eyed the writing. It was an untidy scrawl in Italian, but Henry had provided a caption in English. In fact, a lot of attached papers and writings seemed to translate what was Italian in the book. The rest, it turned out the author was very fluent in English.

"Evie tells me you haven't heard of the greatness of Ezio Auditore da Firenze. A great man, he was." Henry said. "His methods of taking down the Templars are not that far off from how you did it with the Rooks. You would enjoy his writings very much."

I stared at the book in my hands. Looking back on history was not really something I excelled at, or really even cared for. But it looked to me like this was something very important to both Evie and Henry. Even George was looking over, quite interested in what I held.

"This isn't just any copy of his writings either, Jacob. This is an original manuscript Ezio wrote himself. Treat it with as much care as you can, because it's one of the most valuable books we'll have in our collection back in Crawley."

"Ah, dammit." I muttered. "Asking me to take good care of a book? Want me to drink all the water out of the Thames while I'm at it?"

Henry chuckled at the jest as he pulled out a small, thin package with his name written on it in my messy scrawl from the gift bag he was holding.

"This from you, Jacob?"

"From one brother to another. Both fraternal and literal." I replied.

Henry tore off the parchment covering it, and lifted the lid. Inside he found something he hadn't held in months.

"This was the kukri I had given you the day you and Evie arrived in London." He exclaimed as he twirled it between his fingers.

"I've gotten a better one lately." I said, "so I figured I would return what you lent me, Greenie. Assassin Christmas, as I said."

The three of us laughed as George got up from his seat, two wrapped boxes in his hands. He handed each one to Evie and I.

"Oh, George." She said. "You didn't need to get us anything."

"No, no." He said. "I've actually had these for a while, but I've known what to do with them for a long time. You were meant to have them. One for each of you."

He handed one box to me, and the other to Evie. Evie carefully took the wrapping paper off of hers while I tore the paper off quite carelessly. I wanted to know what the hell was in the box.

Inside was a small cardboard box with a lid. I lifted it upwards just as Evie opened hers.

She gasped again. "George…"

"Your father wanted you both to have them when he passed. I'm glad I finally was able to find them among all the assets the Council took care of when he died."

Father's hidden blades. I strapped it onto my wrist and gave it a good flick. The mechanism felt neglected after months of no care or use, but just as good as my own. Something to keep close.

Finally, Henry and Evie gave their gifts to each other. They both were small boxes, and this was the true jest of presents I had seen today.

"It took me weeks to find it, Henry." Evie said as he opened his, and she hers. "But I knew you would love it."

"The same for me, dear Evie." He replied.

They lifted the lids on their presents. There were no words from either of them before they both burst out laughing, pulling out the gifts.

I would say they both had their share of hobbies and interests that they could bond over, but none matched their love for collecting pressed flowers. And here they were holding up two of the same plant.

"The mistletoe." She said to me and George. "A sacred one from India."

"As I've known for a long time, Evie." Henry blushed. "And it's also said that two who stand underneath it must kiss."

Evie went as crimson as an apple as her newlywed husband held his above his head and leaned in towards her.

"Oh, get a room you two." I whispered to myself, yet chuckling at the pride I felt for my own twin finding her love at such a young age.

* * *

"You there my good boy! Tell me, what is today?"

"Today, sir! Why, it's Christmas Day!"

He grinned to himself as the sun shone above the snow covered rooftops of the city, now as bright and cheerful as the feeling in his heart now. "Then I haven't missed it! I haven't missed it, o I'm right on time! The Spirits did it all in one night! O, but of course they can! They can do as they like!"

The boy looked queerly up at the old man, but listened closely as he appeared to talk back down to him.

"Do you know of the butcher's shop two streets down on the corner?"

"Why, I should hope so, sir!"

"Oh, an intelligent boy! A delight to speak to!" He said to himself. "And you know of the turkey in the window? Not of the prize one, but the big one?"

"What, the one as big as I am?"

"Yes, indeed my good boy! Tell me, have they sold it yet?"

"No, sir. It's still hanging in the store."

"Excellent!" He cried. "If you were to go down, buy it, and have them bring it here, I will give you a shilling. But bring it here within the next ten minutes, and I will give you a crown instead!"

The boy yelped with joy, and with a tip of his small hat, was gone.

The man who was once the dreaded Ebenezer Scrooge only smiled to himself as he laid his plan out to himself and how he would surprise the whole lot of them. Bob, and his family, and Tiny Tim, and his nephew. Oh, and the Fryes! Goodness gracious, he must not forget the Frye Twins. Those two children who held much more gratefulness of the holiday than he ever had. How wise they had been! He would show them how sorry he was, and all would be as well as he could make it. (And he knew it would be very well with the riches he held, and all the time he saw the spirits had now given him.)

After he prepared for the day ahead of him, he walked about the streets, for he knew just where to go first. Cheering a Merry Christmas to every smiling man he passed, he was rounding the corner when he ran smack into Jacob Frye.

As soon as he realized who stood before him, Frye scowled. "A Bah Humbug to you, Mr. Scrooge." He sneered.

Scrooge had to stop himself from laughing as he forced his best scowl in return. "Mr. Frye." He gave a faux sneer. "And to that slight towards my good name, I really must only say… hah! Merry Christmas!"

Frye nearly slipped on the frozen puddle he stood on and broke his nose when he heard that. When he regained his footing, he looked strangely at Scrooge. "Sir?"

"I do hope you are having the grandest Christmas today, and I do pray you forgive my words only the other day."

"Mr. Scrooge? Are you right in the head? I see a smile where there shouldn't be."

"I am leagues better than fine, Frye my boy! I have been shown the true meaning and betterment of mankind that this season brings, and think of no better time than today to feel this newfound joy for the world now! Merry Christmas!"

He walked off leaving Frye standing there, speechless.

* * *

 **Jacob**

Evie, Henry and I joined Fred and his wife for Christmas dinner that night, and found to our surprise that Scrooge himself arrived as well. The man was going dotty with happiness by the minute, but no real insanity showed, so we let him be. Fred only smiled saying he had received a visit from him that morning asking for forgiveness from him and accepting the invitation when we inquired. Dinner could not have been more enjoyable that night, and Scrooge himself told us of his joke he was planning for Bob only the next day when he returned to work.

Bob was startled to find that in response to his lateness, Scrooge tripled his salary and promoted him to his new partner, as the counting house was changing it's name for the new year of 1869: Scrooge and Cratchit.

Even as the days warmed after the start of the new year, things got brighter and stayed that way for us. George left for Crawley, and Evie left London indefinitely with Henry, leaving the city under my watch, and while studying the journals of this man Ezio, and another by the name of Altair, I began to learn how teaching the Creed to younger students really meant. Members of the Rooks like Craig and such became my new students, and before long, they were given their hoods, and I was named Mentor by the Council themselves. They came to know me as the "Fryeing Pan Mentor" as that pub became one of our hideouts, and the uncertain future began to look brighter than ever before.

Even now as I see one of the recruits, Jack the lad training in the yard below my flat with the other Rook Assassins, I think back to what Tiny Tim always said when life looked it grimmest. Now a young man grown, he still says ever day those words that every one of us who have come to know him know as well as him. "God bless us everyone!"


End file.
